


An Unexpected Early Morning

by misha_collins_butt



Series: And the Stars Will Fade and the Moon Will Fall but Please Stay With Me Tonight [8]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate universe Supernatural, First Kiss, First Time, Fluff, Human AU, Lost Love, M/M, destiel au, homeless!Cas, human!Cas, mechanic!Dean, reunited
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-14
Updated: 2019-08-14
Packaged: 2020-08-31 23:24:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,248
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20248375
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/misha_collins_butt/pseuds/misha_collins_butt
Summary: Mechanic (and police officer's son) Dean Winchester wakes up to a break in at his top floor apartment. Prepared as he is to deal with it, he never expected to discover this.





	An Unexpected Early Morning

Dean sits up ram-rod straight in his bed, eyes adjusting to his moonlit room. He turns to the digital clock that reads 2:47 on his bedside table, then slips silently out from between his sheets. He snatches up his lucky bat from the corner of his room, creeps through the open door, keeping flat against the wall, and tiptoes down the hallway toward the sounds of faint clinking glass in his kitchen. 

He's never had a break in, but he'd heard they're colloquial in this area and decided to be prepared, and he reminds himself that he's been training for this as he adjusts his clammy grip on his wooden weapon.

He reaches the entrance to the kitchen, just barely peers around the corner and ducks back behind the wall when he sees the shadow outline of someone rifling through his cabinets. He takes a long, silent breath and spins around the corner, going full ninja mode as he prowls up behind the intruder, and with one quick motion downward, his fingers dig into the man's pressure point right at the top of his shoulder, and the guy sinks to his knees with a whine of pain.

Dean picks him up by the collar, pivots on his heel, and throws the guy against the wall of his living room, nearly crashing him into his television setup.

Dean positions his bat behind and above himself, leans over to flick on the light switch, and is greeted with one of the most attractive faces he's ever had the privilege of viewing. 

A clawing at the pit of his stomach tells him he's met this guy before.

A rough looking man, about 25, maybe 5'10, with dark, tousled hair and cyan blue eyes and a jawline too sharp to be real stares back at Dean defiantly from his spot clinging to the spring green of Dean's living room wall.

"Who are you," Dean demands, readjusting his hands for the fiftieth time on his bat and licking his dried lips. "Why the fuck are you here."

The guy only breathes calmly, not moving a muscle except to close his mouth and raise his hands as if to say he's unarmed.

"Who are you!" Dean shouts, agitated and slightly frustrated that he's getting distracted by this guy's looks. "What do you want?!"

"I don't want to hurt you--"

"Look, buddy, I'm the one holding the bat," Dean laughs ironically and clenches his jaw and his fists around the handle, "so I suggest you stop avoiding the question."

"My name's Castiel," the man offers, still refusing to move. As if he knows not to challenge Dean, has gone through this before. His words are calculated, as if he's prepared himself for this speech. Dean feels a tingle of recognition but brushes it off as lingering sleep. "I didn't come here to hurt you."

"Alright," Dean gets annoyed and snaps a handcuff to one of Castiel's wrists and the other to a rustic pole that he's begged his landlord to remove but that seems to be coming in handy after all. Dean pushes out his lips and takes a few steps back, pointing the bat at the man. "Tell me what the fuck you want before I bash your brains in."

The guy's eyes widen before he relaxes and slides down the wall to curl up with his knees to his chest and his free hand hanging at his side on the wood floor. He says nothing.

Dean rubs his temples and plops down into his brown sofa, chucking one of the 'decorative pillows' his brother somehow convinced him were a good idea out of the way and leaning back into the corner.

"Look, I'm tired, I've got work today at 10. And quite frankly, I'd rather not ruin a good face, so why don't you just...tell me...why you're here, huh, tough guy?"

Castiel gulps and hangs his head. Looks back up at Dean with his chin a bit higher.

"I wasn't here to hurt you or anything. I just wanted some food, man," Castiel whispers the last part, like it's shameful. It's certainly strange, but Dean's not one to judge superficial things.

"Food?" Dean asks sceptically. The man nods sheepishly. Dean sighs, "Alright, food. And why can't you get food from your own refrigerator?"

The intruder's eyes get glassy and weary and he switches his gaze down slowly, carnally. His lips bend downward and his eyelids sag with contempt.

"You're homeless," Dean answers his own question in an astonished type of murmur, grip tightening on his bat. He thinks for a moment, watching the invader softly as Castiel's uncuffed arm slides around his legs and he hugs them closer to his body. "You're just hungry?"

Castiel doesn't make a move to nod yes or shake no, but he peeks back up at Dean through dense lashes. Dean nods. Thinks. Takes a breath and pauses. Moves quickly from his seated position on the couch and catches this Castiel character flinch as he stands. Dean stops in the doorway to the kitchen to take a last, warning look at this guy, and then moves as fast he can muster around the kitchen at 3 in the morning.

When he emerges, the man hasn't moved an inch, save for his head drooping to sag against his knees. Dean carries a sandwich on a plate across the room, crouches before the man, who seems unneccesarily frightened, leaning further and further into the wall. Dean keeps pausing, making sure this is safe, assessing. He sets the plate on the tv stand, pauses, examines the man's face. Grabs the cuffs and pauses again before unlocking them - his hand brushes the other man's wrist as he removes the cuff. He replaces the metal in his back pocket, and, still sitting back on his feet in front of this apparently innocent guy who is rubbing his wrist comfortingly, hands him the plate, and walks back to his seat on the sofa.

Dean squints at the guy, trying to figure him out. Figure out why he feels he knows him.

"Thank you," Castiel whispers solemnly, furrowing his brows at the food in his hands, like he doesn't really know what to do with it.

"You're supposed to eat it," Dean points out helpfully, which earns him an unimpressed look from Castiel. He smirks.

"I'm...not used to this kind of reaction," Castiel changes the subject, then takes a grateful bite out of the sandwich.

"Really," Dean answers, smile growing sarcastically. "And what would be the appropriate reaction to someone breaking into your home and looking through the cans of food you'll never use, Mr. Rules-and-Regulations?"

Castiel chuckles through a mouthful of bread and swallows hard. Works his jaw thoughtfully. Surveys his lap, because it's suddenly become far more interesting than his current situation.

"Usually people just tell me to get lost or find a job. Sometimes even swat me out with a broom or something."

Dean frowns. He easily could've been one of those people. Easily. And he still can't figure out why he chose not to be. Can't figure out what it is about this guy. Makes him feel kind of warm but in a weird way. He's not dangerous, but he's definitely not innocent. And he knows him, Dean can _feel _it.

"How'd you get in here anyway? You have to buzz yourself in, you don't live here," Dean rambles, attempting to piece it together.

Castiel pauses mid-chew and a slow smile crawls into his lips. He finishes swallowing and trains an honest gaze on Dean as he replies, "I told the old lady in the apartment below that I'm your boyfriend and you forgot to hand me the keys when I had to make an emergency run home from the bar."

"Impressive," Dean says after a long rope of silence. "Really impressive. You're smart."

"Homeless doesn't mean incapable, just means poor...fucked over by the government," Castiel speaks to the sandwich, eyes not leaving the wheat bread that Dean refuses to give up at this point because it's just so good. Castiel stares a while longer at it, pensive, then takes another bite.

"Look," Dean starts, rubbing the back of his neck and contemplating why the hell he's doing this for a total stranger. "The couch is comfy and I got a lot of extra blankets in the closet. You can stay here--" the man's head whips up in shock and Dean swears he can hear his spine crackling. "--_if_ you promise not to freak me out with any of that break in stuff again."

Castiel can't seem to find words - sitting there with his mouth moving but no sound escaping those goddamned sinful lips - so Dean grabs his bat with an exasperated grunt and stands to head back to the hallway to grab some more comfortable pillows. Suddenly, the plate clatters to the floor and Castiel's arms are wrapped tightly around Dean's shoulders and Dean is struggling to not push this guy away because it's pretty obvious he doesn't know what personal space is but also that he's just really thankful for this and so he reluctantly slips an arm around Castiel's waist and pats his back, good ol' fashioned, brotherly style. Because he's totally not school-girl crushing on the guy who just broke into his house. Nope, not Dean, no sirree.

Castiel pulls away quickly, blood painting the hills of his cheeks a serene pink, and he mumbles a hurried apology. But Dean simply smiles and lands a hand on the man's shoulder reassuringly.

Dean pulls down the extra pillows and blankets he seems to have collected over he years and returns to the living room to find Castiel stooping over the abandoned plate tentatively. 

Castiel's eyes travel up to Dean's face and with all seriousness, he says, "I ruined the sandwich."

"I don't think that's the most important thing that's happening right now, pal," Dean smiles half-heartedly and drops some pillows at the end of the couch, then folds the blankets patiently over the back. He pats the back cushion in invitation to lay down, and Castiel obliges, standing and shuffling to the sofa. "Well I'm not getting back to sleep, so if you don't mind, we could always put on a movie or somethin'."

Castiel glares at him quizzically, grabbing one of the blankets and settling in as he turns his head back to face the coffee table. Dean stares at the back of this guy's neck, wondering what the fuck is happening to him. What is this Castiel guy doing to him to give him tingles in his stomach.

"All of this," Castiel mumbles suddenly, ripping Dean out of his own dream land, "out of the goodness of your heart? I can't believe you don't have some kind of ulterior motive. Some...evil plan."

"Says the guy who broke into my apartment," Dean laughs, sidling around the couch and reclining into the cushion beside Castiel. He turns and examines the man's face, eyes softening. "How long has it been like this for you," he whispers.

"Few years," Castiel's voice scratches and he clears his throat before continuing. "I ran away from home when I was 17 but I was too stupid to budget so I blew all my money in the first year because I also didn't bother to look for a job. Lost everything."

Dean watches an uninvited tear meander down Castiel's cheek. He reaches out to catch it on his finger but thinks better of it and recoils. Castiel scrubs at his wet jaw with rough hands. Sniffles.

"Hey," Dean hums, fingers developing their own mind and lifting again, this time resolutely curling under Castiel's chin to tug his face over to look at him. "It'll be okay. You're here now."

"You haven't even told me your name," Castiel bubbles, more tears congregating in the corners of his eyes.

"I'm Dean," he says in a low voice, smiling gingerly. "Dean Winchester. I'm a mechanic at that garage downtown. Work for my uncle. My brother is Sam and my favourite colour is light grey. I'm an Aquarius and I like long, romantic walks on the beach," Dean starts laughing and Castiel offers a small chuckle too. Dean feels his eyes crinkle at the corners as he gives a post-laugh smile. "What about you, Castiel?"

"Novak. My dad is an engineer and creative designer at a doll factory and my mom is constantly 5,000 miles away at some geographical convention thing and my brothers are all named after archangels and I'm a sweet summer child without a care in the world," Castiel half-heartedly plays along, hand dangerously close to Dean's thigh on the cushion, fingernails idly scraping the fabric.

"Well, Mr. Novak," Dean brushes a hair off his own freckled forehead and sinks further into the couch, wrapping fingers around the remote on the side table. "You're welcome here as long as you need to stay."

Castiel's lips part in astonishment and bids a faint visage, leaving Dean wondering, silently, what it would be like to have those lips pressed against his.

"Can I hug you again?" Castiel asks, appearing all of five years old with his wide puppy eyes that remind Dean of Sam's I-will-get-what-I-want-face and dirty, messy hair and red cheeks and lips weighed down by year's of hardship. And Dean nods.

Castiel's arms are gentle around his shoulders and fingers grip Dean's t-shirt and Castiel's face is kind of buried in his neck and he can't really help but tighten his grip around Castiel's waist and nuzzle his nose into Castiel's shoulder and he can smell how warm he is, how kind and generous, how big-hearted, selfless, careful this strange man is. And Dean doesn't want him to let go but he does all too quickly and sits back. And Dean nearly whines but what the fuck is he, a toddler with a piece of candy? He forces himself not to attack Castiel's face with his lips.

"Need anything else?" Dean resigns himself to asking, standing again and making his slow way toward the kitchen. "Some water. 'Nother sandwich or something?"

"Water is fine, thank you," Castiel beams from his spot bundled up beneath three blankets he'd somehow collected without Dean noticing. Dean shakes his head and returns to the kitchen. He takes a moment to himself to grip the edge of the sink and just take some deep breaths. This man is a stranger. He shouldn't be doing this - he shouldn't be getting urges to throw him down on the couch and fuck him up and down the wall and handcuff him to that pole again and make him cum--

He stops himself right in his tracks by swiping a glass from the cupboard and yanking the faucet on.

With trembling hands, he pads back into the living room, where Castiel has hooded the blankets over his head and is sitting cross-legged, spacing out with his Caribbean water eyes fixed on something in the distance.

Dean places the water cup on the coffee table and crouches low enough to catch Castiel's attention. Castiel jumps a bit and Dean smirks. His hand somehow finds its way to Castiel's cheek to wipe at a stray tear and the other man absently leans into his touch.

Castiel's eyes drift upward and meet Dean's for long second, and suddenly his lips are intertwined with a complete stranger's, and his fingers are pressing hard into Castiel's jaw and Castiel's fingers are twisted in Dean's hair and Dean is bringing his other hand up to cup Castiel's other cheek and hold him in place and oh god jesusmaryandjoseph this is so wrong but Dean still doesn't stop when Castiel curls a fist around the collar of Dean's shirt and his lips are numb and alive with electricity simultaneously and everything is surreal and--

Dean breaks away with a gasp and stares, startled, at Castiel's swollen lips and then at his wide, watery eyes and he stands quickly, breathing heavy, shirt loose, briefs a bit tighter than they started off this evening.

"I'm sorry," Dean apologises in a rushed, low voice and then, without another word, he hastily speed walks to his bedroom, muttering obscenities aimed at himself along the way.

It takes him another hour to get to sleep.

\--

Dean wakes at 9:13, and anxiety immediately wells in the pit of his stomach. He goes about his usual business, however, being conscientious not to wake the sleeping man on the couch as he makes coffee and warms up bacon and spreads butter on his toast.

Dean struts into the living room and stops in the doorway to examine the bundle of blankets wrapped like a burrito tortilla around Castiel's slumbering form. He leans laxly against the doorframe and crosses an arm over his chest, steaming mug of heaven's nectar in his other hand. Eyes training on the way Castiel breathes in his sleep.

It seems like an eternity, and Dean must lose track of time spacing out, but Castiel shifts, groaning and sitting up. Stretching his arms over his head. His back cracks - a sound Dean still flinches at despite having spent many hours in his mother's chiropractic office as a child.

"Mornin', sleeping beauty," Dean calls weakly across the room, and Castiel replies with a sleepy smile. "Coffee?" Nod nod. Dean sacrifices his own cup, mostly so he doesn't have to leave the room again. He's both terrified to be here and exhilarated about his stupid decisions. He perches on he edge of the coffee table, glass mug clinking against the equally glass tabletop as he carefully sets it down beside him. "The, uh...the couch pulls out into a bed, y'know," Dean continues, pointing distractedly at the sofa on which Castiel has made himself comfortable. As comfortable as a couch can get. "Guess I could've...told you last night before I decided to attack your face with mine."

That genuinely unironic statement earns him a tired chuckle and Dean's heart melts a little.

"You didn't have to apologise, you know," Castiel replies, taking up the coffee, hands grasping both sides of it with a too-big sweater's sleeves over his hands like mittens, and sips the boiling drink like it won't turn his tongue to sandpaper.

"For?" Dean knows damn well.

"For kissing me," Castiel states casually, as if talking about the weather or anything more inane than two complete strangers making out in an apartment one of the strangers broke into.

Dean purses his lips inward and nods slowly.

"Why not?" Is all he can muster, flabbergasted.

Castiel shrugs idly.

"Because maybe I've been wanting to do that for a long time," the man replies, and it takes him a second to realise what he's just said. He straightens and his eyes go wider than a deer in headlights and he looks to Dean possibly to see whether Dean's figured it out. 

But Dean started into a flashback of his life the moment he heard the words 'long time' and he's trying to figure out whether this guy is just a stalker or--

Understanding slams into him like a spiked boulder.

"Novak. Oh my god, Novak, from-from high school, and-and," Dean stutters, pulling back his shoulders in insurmountable shock because- "Everyone thought you died Cas!" He takes Cas's face in his hands and searches his eyes for a sign regret. The shit this man must've gone through... "Everyone thought you were dead," he repeats softly. "Your parents said you jumped off Red Ridge and...and your body was never found and...Cas, what happened?"

The one that got away. Dean's high school crush. The one he was so close to asking out but didn't get a chance before he vanished.

"I'm sorry, Dean--"

"And why the hell did you let me kiss you?! You knew it was me-" Dean shoves Cas back into the couch fervently, gritting his teeth, "-the whole time, didn't you?! Why the fuck didn't you say something?!"

Cas tries to hide a crooked smile.

Dean would like to kiss it off his stupid lips.

"I swear I didn't know this is where you lived," Cas reassures. "I thought I'd left everyone far behind me in South Dakota. And when I saw it was you...I don't know. I guess I was scared to say something."

Dean shakes his head sorrowfully and pushes the hair back out of Cas's face. 

"God, it took me forever to get over my feelings for you. Years. I left town because it reminded me of all the time we spent together before you left."

Dean remembers. Back in junior year when he met the infamous nerd Castiel after having been friends with Gabriel for three years and he and Cas were instantly friends and then walking the line of something more for a very short time, something between friends and lovers, before Cas disappeared into thin air in Senior year.

And then, when he graduated, he left and never looked back. He refused to let that town be a reminder of what happened, and he pushed it out of his mind - ruefully - and attempted to get on with his life.

This can't be happening. He's still sleeping - he's dreaming. He wants to pinch himself.

"You were the first person I think I ever felt like that about," Cas murmurs, lips squished between his cheeks with the way Dean is holding his face still. "I never forgot you and when I saw your face last night...Dean, I wanted to say something but I didn't want to scare you."

"Are you fucking with me? Cas, you scared me when you disappeared. You scared me when I thought there was someone in my house trying to murder me. I was in love with you...Cas, and I've been trying so hard to figure out why I felt so drawn to you last night, and if you'd just said something--"

Dean only realises he just said he loved Cas when Cas's eyes get really soft and he smiles faintly, and Dean's cheeks burn pink. 

"Dean," Cas whispers, combing fingers back through Dean's blonde hair. "I loved you, too. I never stopped." Cas tugs at his shirt collar and adds, "C'mere." 

Dean gulps, but cranes his neck and meets Cas halfway and they kiss again, and this time Dean isn't drunk with sleep and Cas isn't a liar and Dean isn't scared for his life and everything is kind of a little bit perfect. And Dean sighs outwardly and climbs up on top of Cas and his hands are still holding his face glueing his head in one spot so he lets them slide back and tangle in Cas's hair, and Castiel pulls him in closer, so close that Dean has to hunch over and their hips are moving together. And, and, _and_.

Dean pulls back to breathe, but Cas's lips don't leave his skin - make their slow way down his neck, nipping at his collarbone - and the blankets have fallen behind Cas so Dean yanks them up and throws them to the end of the couch and twists both of them so he's laying on top of Cas, bracing himself on forearms and the fire in Cas's lips.

And just as Dean's hands find their way beneath Cas's shirt, there's a knock on the door.

He drops his head to the crevice of Cas's shoulder, which shifts as Cas slips his arm around Dean's waist and tells him to go answer it.

Sam.

"Sam?" Dean tilts his head tiredly, and Sam smiles like he's stupid.

"Don't tell me you forgot, dude."

"What? For-forgot what--"

"We have to plan for the party - I told you _weeks_ ago."

"Wh-party?"

"Who's that?" Sam asks with his eyes on Cas as he pushes past Dean. "Wait, you look familiar."

"Hello, Sam," Cas rasps from the couch, and Dean gives up speaking and closes the door, muttering 'come on in' so Sam can't hear.

"Holy shit."

"Sam, you remember Cas," Dean butts in and steps past him back toward the couch.

"Holy shit," Sam repeats. "Oh my god, Cas! Everyone thought you were--"

"He's gotten shit from me already, Sammy," Dean says. "Lay off."

"I was just gonna say I missed seeing him," Sam replies defensively. "You were always really happy around him. I missed that."

It's silent for a moment. Dean doesn't have words for that. Cas seems equally as speechless.

"Well," Dean starts softly, smirking. "Look at that change of heart. Weren't you always the one telling us to either kiss already or knock it off?" Dean bumps shoulders with Sam playfully and Sam says 'whatever' with red in his ears and all is right with the world.

And all is good.

\--

After Sam has left, Dean spends an hour working Cas open and making love to him for the first time. 

Cas does some really interesting things with his tongue.

Dean thinks he'll be hanging on to this guy for a while.

\--

Three years later, Castiel proposes to Dean by kneeling behind him while he's washing dishes.

With tears in his eyes, Dean kneels in front of Cas, slides his hands up to Cas's cheeks, and kisses him so hard hey both fall over onto the cold tile floor.

"I'll take that as a yes," Cas breathes, small laugh, hand brushing back Dean's hair.

Dean laughs too and nods, a tear meandering down his cheekbone.

"Yes."

**Author's Note:**

> I'm sure y'all noticed that I'm only posting Destiel right now. Like I've said before, I have OCD and part of that is wanting to do things in a very specific order, hence, I'm posting all the Destiel fics first. Then I'll post Wincest, then Sabriel, then I believe I have one Johnlock fic to post. I'm doing them in order of how many fics there are of each ship.


End file.
